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"Reflecting to You"
By MissAnnThropic
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: None of its mine. I’m just a sad little fangirl that spends her days writing fanfic and watching taped episodes of my favorite shows. :(
Description: A different ending to In a Mirror Darkly, Part I, results in the Mirror Universe T'Pol ending up on our universe's Enterprise when the relationship between Trip and T'Pol is at a breaking point. (later becomes a cross-over with ST:TOS, Spoilers: The Tholian Web)
Chapter 15
Several hours deep in meditation, conducted without interruption and in solitude with complete silence, had been immensely beneficial and Mu'Pol felt that she once again had her center. She had emerged from a deep meditative state and she was still in a strange universe manned by peculiar doppelgangers of people she knew, still far removed from everything familiar, but she felt more capable of responding to it.
Once caught up on her meditation, she had examined her borrowed quarters with greater scrutiny and been pleased to find Ensign Sato had been correct to say she was 'tidy'. Deep down, Mu'Pol had expected the quarters of Hoshi Sato, no matter the universe, to have walls adorned with daggers and swords. There was nothing sharper than the edge of the cabinet in this room.
She was also stunned to the point of not really knowing how to think when she found two more uniforms identical to the one given to her by Ensign Sato neatly folded on a bathroom shelf.
She bathed, and though the soapy water ran over her recent wounds and stung sharply, it was refreshing.
After she had changed into a clean uniform, and having tended to her mind and hygiene she was forced to concede to the needs of her body. She could feel the gnawing of hunger at her belly.
She was not eager to confront the crew of this mirror-image Enterprise. To her own chagrin, she found herself almost wishing Ensign Sato would come and invite her along to dinner as she had with lunch.
Not that Mu'Pol was overly fond of Ensign Sato (kind and shockingly understanding though she was), but she had provided a much-appreciated buffer between Mu'Pol and the rest of the crew during lunch. They all still looked, it was only natural that they would, but with Mu'Pol already seated with mealtime companions no one had approached her.
Excepting Ensign Mayweather's incessant need to chatter, it had been an acceptable way to dine in this strange universe.
But Ensign Sato had given no indication at lunch that she would expect Mu'Pol to join her for dinner as well, and even if she had Mu'Pol had learned better than to count on a human a long time ago.
She could, of course, skip dinner. Vulcans were a hardy survival species and she could go days without food (or water) before it impaired her function.
But she was also recovering from a severe injury and allowing her body to grow weak as she healed was illogical.
Perturbed and very nearly disgusted, she ventured outside her new quarters and made her way to the mess hall alone. At least this Enterprise was built exactly as the ship upon which she served, so she didn't have to ask for directions.
The first person in the mess hall to accost her was the ship's chef, but his intrusion was only to introduce himself and offer her a bowl of plomeek soup. A dish he had become adept at preparing for Commander T'Pol as he was proud to brag. Mu'Pol accepted the tray and moved to a table as far from the doors as she could. Perhaps the humans would 'take the hint' and leave her to eat in peace.
For a while, she watched them as she ate. Her secluded corner table afforded her some anonymity and allowed her to watch this Enterprise's crew 'in their natural environment' as a good scientist might say.
For the strangeness of their behavior to her, they may as well have been an entirely unknown species.
They were close-knit. That struck Mu'Pol foremost and the most strongly for it was the aspect most different from the crew she'd served alongside on the Empire Enterprise. Here they called each other by their first names, they dropped rank off-duty and viewed one another as near to kinsmen as Mu'Pol had ever seen humans act. These people sat with their backs to the doors. They laughed and joked and chatted with each other without sliding looks to the side to check for attackers. There were no political agendas or obvious grabs for promotion… no propaganda or bluster. Their postures… they were so loose. Relaxed. Mu'Pol could not find a single rigid spine or tight set of shoulders in the room. When good friends would meet, they would slap each other on the shoulder or touch arms… affectionate, guileless touching. It was so utterly foreign and the innate scientist in Mu'Pol could not help but be fascinated.
Several crewmen spotted Mu'Pol as they moved around the room and seemed to stutter at the sight of her. She obviously interrupted the natural flow of things on the ship, but if they were spiteful of that fact they did not show it. Mostly she got awkward looks. A few waved hesitantly. Fewer still offered an uncertain smile.
To her relief, no one came to join her.
Mu'Pol lost herself in watching, found herself intrigued by this new breed of human, and when the mess hall door opened her eyes tracked to it to see what new subject had arrived for her to observe.
Mu'Pol froze when Commander Tucker stepped into the room. He entered a few paces and stopped. Those seated closest to the door greeted him with friendly salutations. He offered a nod in reply, but he was distracted at the outset.
Commander Tucker searched the mess hall.
When he saw Mu'Pol, he stopped. A clouded look crossed his face.
Mu'Pol watched him. She didn't know what he would do; she didn't know what she wanted him to do. With everyone else she had had a clear answer… she wanted them to stay away.
After a few seconds Commander Tucker's eyes left her and scanned the rest of the room. Then he slowly returned his eyes to her.
Obviously he hadn't found whoever he was looking for, but it seemed she would do.
Commander Tucker retrieved a dinner tray and headed directly toward Mu'Pol.
Mu'Pol took in a steeling breath moments before he was standing before her, across the table from her observation point. He stood a second in silence just staring down at her; Mu'Pol was momentarily lost for anything to do but stare back.
"Uh… like some company?" he asked awkwardly.
Mu'Pol found herself saying, "You may join me."
Tucker nodded and took the seat across from her. He went about the habitual motions of dining; arranged his silverware to his liking, repositioned his cup on the table rather than the tray, laid the napkin over one thigh and scooted closer to the table. As she studied him curiously, and a little uncertainly, he took a few bites of his dinner and a drink from his cup. For a time, she rather wondered if he would join her in the manner a Vulcan would… Vulcans did not feel the compulsion to combine dinner and conversation.
Then Tucker looked up and found her watching him. He didn't seem offended. At first, he returned the open scrutiny.
"How many hours did you get to meditate?" he asked finally.
Mu'Pol could not decide if she was unsettled or not by how well this Commander Tucker had proved to be at reading her thus far. His talent for it was uncanny.
"Six."
He faintly smiled. "Well, looks like it did you a world of good. You look rested."
It was beyond eerie how accurate Tucker was at a simple glance. "I feel much improved."
Tucker nodded, pursed his lips, and turned his head to glance over his shoulder at the main area of the mess hall. He turned back around momentarily looking dejected.
Mu'Pol frowned. "Commander Tucker…"
He glanced up at her. "People here call me Trip."
Mu'Pol hesitated. "Your counterpart in my universe favored that nickname as well."
"Well, guess the Trip from your universe and I are not that different, then."
Mu'Pol's blood seemed to run cold beneath her skin. "You are very different."
Trip looked intrigued at that and cocked his head in thought. "What are things like in your universe? If, ah, you don't mind me asking."
Strangely, when he asked, and when he offered a polite way for her to refuse if she wished, she didn't mind.
"They are… much more dangerous. In my universe, the Terran Empire rules through fear and violence. Nonhumans are viewed as inferior and treated with disdain… we Vulcans are a slave race to human whims."
Trip looked as shocked as Ensign Sato had been earlier at the description of Mu'Pol's reality. Then he looked angry. "You're a slave where you come from?" he almost hissed.
Mu'Pol nodded.
Inexplicably, Trip's jaw clenched and his fingers closed tightly around his fork.
Mu'Pol knew those mannerisms. He was mad.
"Why would that anger you?" she asked. She felt able to ask him as she had not felt able to ask Archer when he reacted much the same way.
Trip consciously loosened his hold on his silverware. "Because it's barbaric."
"It is a barbaric universe," Mu'Pol returned.
Trip stared down at his food, a wrinkle on his brow. After a few seconds he shook his head in complete bafflement. "How does that even happen? Humans enslaving Vulcans? I mean, here, Vulcans sort of think of themselves as better than humans. Well, most Vulcans, anyway. We've been their 'red-headed stepchild' in the space-faring community for a hundred years, for the most part going only as far and as fast as they think we can handle going. If anyone's been holding a leash, it was them."
Mu'Pol was very curious to hear about this Vulcan-human relationship. "From the very beginning in my universe humans have been that way. From the day of First Conquest."
"First Conquest?" Trip asked.
"It is what humans call the day Vulcans first made contact with humanity. A scout ship landed on Earth after man's first warp flight to speak with the inhabitants. The Vulcan crew was killed and the ship taken. From that day forward humankind swept through the neighboring systems, destroying those who would not bend to their will. The Terran Empire rose and wrested power in a quarter of the time most races take to organize a barely-cohesive galactic council.
"I will credit humanity its speed and efficiency, deplorable though the application of those qualities may be."
Trip was gaping at her. When she paused to consider him, he breathed, "Damn."
Mu'Pol lifted an eyebrow.
"It's just… was First Conquest on April 5, 2063?"
"Yes. It happened here as well?"
"Well, Zephram Cochrane made the first human warp flight and the Vulcans did come down to visit… but it was the start of peaceful communications between our peoples. It began relations with Vulcan that continue to this day. It was called First Contact, not Conquest."
"Interesting."
"How long have you been a slave to humans?" Trip asked softly.
"I was taken from the homeworld when I was thirty. Young Vulcan women are often introduced into Empire service as captain concubines."
Trip's nostrils flared. "You were raped?!"
Mu'Pol was startled by the vehemence in Trip's reaction. So far this Commander Tucker had been so… gentle. Finally she saw a glimmer of the Commander Tucker she recognized. Her reflexes kicked in and she tensed to jump up and defend herself, seeing human fury and knowing just what to expect from that. That she knew.
When Trip didn't attack her, only sat there fuming, she finally answered, "Not in the precise definition of the word. There was little logic in resisting, for there is no penalty for killing a disobedient slave, and besides that it is well-known that if a captain favors you it can make the rest of your career path much easier." Her own had been aided greatly by her… skills in making her first captain (Captain Leonard, before he was murdered by Forrest) think he was getting exactly what he wanted out of her in bed. Mu'Pol had found Leonard very easy to control when she learned his vices and played them against him. Sex was the first weapon she was allowed to freely wield with her human captors, and she used it. Forrest had been the one to recognize her wiles and respect them, taking them out of the bedroom and putting them in his corner where they were of the most benefit to him.
But her nearly unprecedented rank (for a nonhuman) on the Terran flagship had started with manipulation of Leonard's unquenchable sex drive.
Trip paled. He pushed his tray toward the center of the table with disgust. "I think I just lost my appetite."
Mu'Pol narrowed her eyes curiously. "Are all humans in your universe so…"
"What?" he looked gently at her, "humane?"
"I was going to say 'soft'."
Trip laughed, but it was sardonic and harsh to her ears. Familiar, actually.
"Yeah, we are all that 'soft'."
Mu'Pol shook her head. "Your Captain Archer said as much, but it is hard to comprehend. More correctly, it is difficult to believe his claims because it is difficult for me to ever believe he is sincere."
Trip frowned, some of the color returning to his face at least. "There's not a man alive who's more sincere than Captain Archer." There was conviction, passion, in Trip's words.
"You are…" the word almost stuck in her throat for having so rarely been used, "friends?"
Trip nodded. "He's one of my best friends. I'd trust him with my life. Hell, I have put my life in his hands." Trip looked troubled. "Captain Archer and I aren't friends in your universe?"
Mu'Pol would have laughed had she been human. "Perhaps in the only sense that any human in my universe has friends. Friends are the cleverest enemies and those to be trusted the least. That was Captain Forrest's position on friendship, in any case, and a policy I have learned to be a preventative one.
"Archer and Tucker were comrades of a sort in my universe, and it may have been labeled friendship, but I doubt you would define it as such." She considered the thinning crowd of diners in the mess hall, all of them still chatting amiably with one another. She returned her attention to Trip. "Mere days before I arrived here Archer spent hours torturing Tucker for a crime he did not commit." As she recounted that misadventure, she almost felt bad about her key part in it.
Not that she saw any logic in divulging that layer to the tale.
Trip's lips parted and he gaped in astonishment.
Mu'Pol struggled to come to grips with this Trip Tucker, finding herself desiring to comprehend this one human before all others in this strange place.
She was having difficulty doing so.
It was hard to find common ground between her and the man across the table from her when the idea of torture did not make her bat an eyelash but Trip looked almost ready to throw up at the notion that there was a world where Jonathan Archer would torture Charles Tucker, III.
Trip finally cast his eyes down from her face and focused distractedly on his cup. "What about you and me? I'm not your friend in your universe?" He asked it almost forlornly.
Mu'Pol tensed immediately and did not want to answer. She could not break down with any ease or clarity the subject of Tucker the way she could deconstruct the Archer of her universe. In her mind's eye, that Archer had two dimensions and that Tucker had twenty.
Instead, she hedged, "As I have said, you are different. For one, the Tucker in my universe did not know how to perform Vulcan neuropressure." She leaned closer. "I must confess I was very surprised to discover you could perform it. Where did you learn such a Vulcan practice?" In her thoughts, she added 'what Vulcan would ever share such an intimate art form with a human?'
Trip shifted in his chair uncomfortably. "Oh… ah… T'Pol taught it to me."
Mu'Pol was completely floored, utterly and completely flabbergasted. T'Pol, her strange double in this universe? Even in Mu'Pol's universe, even with what Tucker had been to her in a very twisted, human way, she had never considered neuropressure with him.
Mu'Pol looked nervously away then quickly back at Trip. "In my universe," she began lowly, "neuropressure is considered a very… intimate act."
To her amazement, Trip flushed. "Ah, well, yeah, it is here, too."
She came to the most logical conclusion very quickly. "You… you and Commander T'Pol are…"
"It wasn't like that," Trip blurted, maybe a little too quickly, but Mu'Pol didn't trust her 'read' of this Trip yet to be certain.
Trip collected himself and sighed. "A little over a year ago Earth was attacked by a species called the Xindi." He glanced at her. "Guess you probably haven't heard of them."
Mu'Pol wrapped the fingers of her left hand around her cup. "The Xindi were a species that resisted the Terran Empire. They were exterminated." Trip looked gut-punched by that news and she looked questioningly at him. "Are you well?"
He looked far from it.
Trip blinked. "It's just… I… they…" he took a breath. "The Xindi attacked our planet because they were told humanity would wipe them out. We convinced them it was a lie to turn them into our enemies, to do someone else's dirty work. I just… I never thought there was a universe that existed where it was true."
Mu'Pol felt a little sorry for this Trip. "They were hardly the only species the Terran Empire forced into extinction."
Trip scowled. "I can't say I care much for this universe of yours."
"Nor do I," she said dryly.
Trip smiled at that, and Mu'Pol was debased because it was so very… kind. It actually went up into his eyes a little, and not in the cold, angry way the Tucker she knew would sometimes smile.
To redirect Trip from looking at her in such a way that rattled her, she asked, "How does an attack on Earth lead to your instruction in the art of Vulcan neuropressure?"
Trip's smile vanished and he pressed his lips together in a tight frown. "My sister Elizabeth was killed in the attack. I don't know about the Trip in your universe, and I don't want to know about any Trip feeling otherwise, but I loved my baby sister very much. Losing her… it hit me real hard." Trip's body was tensing just recounting the event. If she had any doubt about his story his body was providing its own evidence to its truth.
"I was very bitter. Angry. All I could think about was killing those sons of bitches for what they did to my sister. And all I dreamed about was her being burned by that damn weapon." Trip paused and wiped at his face with one hand. The attack may have been a year ago, but it clearly still weighed heavily upon him. "The nightmares were so awful I tried not to sleep. When I did they woke me up scared out of my wits, going through her death all over again every night. I got to the point where I was barely sleeping three hours a night. Phlox was sedating me for a while but the long-term solution was to undergo Vulcan neuropressure."
Mu'Pol mused aloud, "Had Commander Tucker proposed neuropressure in my universe I would have refused him."
Trip chuckled, though it was hardly heart-felt. "Well, my T'Pol wasn't crazy about the idea either at first." He smiled then, more genuinely, to himself. "Told me later she thought I was too impatient to learn even the basics." He sobered, apparently leaving behind the fond memory, and sighed. "But she persisted anyway because I was hurting and she wanted to help. Ended up being the only thing that got me through losing Lizzy."
'The neuropressure or T'Pol?' Mu'Pol wondered, but she did not ask.
Instead, she noted aloud, "From your application of the technique you used on me in sickbay, it appears you were a much more adept pupil than Commander T'Pol initially predicted."
"I'm glad I could help."
"I found it much more… effective… and longer-lasting than any of the doctor's medical treatments."
Trip nodded absently. "All due respect to Phlox, but I'm not surprised; it worked miracles for me when Phlox had reached the limits of what he could do. Vulcans have a truly amazing culture."
Mu'Pol would have fallen out of her chair if she'd been perched any closer to the edge. "No human in my universe would think so."
"The humans in your universe are idiots."
Mu'Pol cocked an eyebrow at him. "I believe I would agree with you."
Trip laughed and it sounded a little more real this time than it had before.
Mu'Pol smirked back the tiniest bit, a human-learned behavior that vanished quickly as something from last night came to mind.
"There is something I don't understand. If neuropressure was so effective treating your sleep disorder, then why were you in sickbay last night receiving sedatives from Doctor Phlox?"
She realized, somehow, she had made a mistake in asking. Trip practically wilted before her eyes, sinking back in his chair and dropping his elbows closer to his body. His head drooped and his eyes fell to his lap. In her universe, only one facing certain death would fold and buckle feebly like that. His voice was almost a whisper. "I, ah… I'm not doing the neuropressure with T'Pol anymore."
"I see," Mu'Pol lied, for the time being choosing to abandon her curiosity as to why. She did not want to see if this human could wither closer to nothing before her eyes… what she had seen so far was disconcerting enough.
Trip took in a breath. "Being the stupid human, I tried doing it on myself, but…"
"It doesn't work," Mu'Pol finished. Every Vulcan knew that but a stupid human wouldn't.
"Yeah… so," Trip shrugged, "it's back to sedatives."
Mu'Pol marveled that the depth of this man's grief for the loss of his sister could still distress him to the point of needing medical intervention in order to function.
Maybe these humans were softer and weaker.
The mention of ineffectually trying to self-administer neuropressure forced Mu'Pol to confront a dilemma she had been attempting to repress since last night. Since Trip had done the neuropressure on her. She would, in fact, like very much for him to repeat the relieving procedure on her. But she did not know how she could possibly ask him. If he had informed her that neuropressure was viewed much more casually in this universe than it was in hers she might have been confident enough to ask. But it was just as intimate here as it was in her universe, and she did not want Trip to think she had intimate intentions toward him. She desired only the easing of pain. Her body wanted to heal, it had the power to do so, but she was damned by the anatomical construction of the Vulcan nervous system that precluded her from administering the healing touches required to get the full effect herself.
A few more days of extensive meditation coupled with neuropressure… she was confident her recovery time would be cut easily in half.
If there were another Vulcan serving aboard Enterprise she might broach the delicate subject knowing both parties could understand the need surpassed the innate intimacy of the act. Emotional underpinnings could be discarded and ignored.
There was, of course, Commander T'Pol, but Mu'Pol had dismissed that option with very illogical swiftness. The disorienting mind-meld was the most close contact Mu'Pol cared to ever have with her counterpart. It was just too… disconcerting. There was something… scary about the sense she got from touching her. Something raw and dangerous, even to Mu'Pol who was used to a much more violent universe. She couldn't accurately describe it, but it felt like it had immense heat behind it, a very psychological ability to burn her, whatever it was. And the distinct grief that had assailed her in Commander T'Pol's mind when she ventured only barely inside… No, she would not engage in neuropressure with Commander T'Pol.
But with Trip? That had its problems, as anything involving humans did. Humans could not disassociate themselves from their emotions. At least, that was Mu'Pol's experience. From the way she'd watched everyone socialize she suspected that was just as true here as in her universe, if not even more so.
She could almost be annoyed at Trip for being the reason she had to face such a conundrum in the first place.
"Does your back still hurt?"
His question caught her by surprise, sitting there balled up in her own problem the way she had been, and she flinched back.
"What?"
Trip asked again, "I asked does it still hurt?" The way he asked was unnervingly knowing.
Mu'Pol lashed back, "How do you read me so well, Tucker?"
Trip sent a chill down her back when he quirked a single eyebrow toward his hairline. A strange emotion that she could not identify tugged at his lips as he answered, "I'm sort of an expert."
Mu'Pol glowered.
Trip placated quickly, "Look… I'm sorry; I'm not trying to creep you out. It's weird for me too, you know." He gestured at her. "You look just like my T'Pol."
That was the second time he had chosen to call her 'his T'Pol', she noted.
"I was only asking because if you were, and I can tell that you are, I was going to say I could do the neuropressure again. If you wanted."
Mu'Pol was stilled by that. Not only had he read her discomfort, he'd practically read her mind, too.
But he offered the very thing which she desired, that which she had been agonizing over how to request of him.
"The… intimacy of the procedure would not be unsettling for you?"
Trip frowned. "Sure, a little… but I can't ignore its medicinal applications. T'Pol didn't when I was the one who needed help, so how can I?
"You're in pain and I can help. Am I just supposed to turn away and let you suffer?"
"Every human I've ever known would," she replied.
Trip's eyebrows knit. "Well, time to redefine your understanding of what a human is."
"Apparently so."
An awkward silence descended.
Trip broke it by saying, "Look, you don't have to if you don't want to, I just thought I could help."
"I would… be grateful… if you would help me." It was almost painful to say those words to a human.
Trip's expression gentled again. "Don't mention it."
Mu'Pol's frustration almost made her ask 'then why did you insist on getting me to say it?' but she was not interested in a verbal sparring match with Trip.
Trip prepared to leave the table. "Let's go to my quarters then, they're closer than Hoshi's. Besides, I have a meditation candle we can use."
Mu'Pol eyed him as she rose with her own tray in hand and moved toward the door with him. "You have a meditation candle?"
Trip gave an embarrassed shrug. "I've taken up a couple of Vulcan practices in the past two years, actually. I've been pleasantly surprised with how… comforting they can be. Even though Vulcans themselves could stand to loosen up a bit, they have some really incredible cultural practices. Though vegetarianism won't be one of those Vulcan mainstays I adopt any time soon. Not unless they can make carrots taste like catfish."
While Mu'Pol studied him in confusion Trip glanced down at her mostly-empty bowl of plomeek soup and he commented, "You ought to try that with dumplings."
She shot a look at him, to which he merely replied, "You'd like it."
Back to Chapter 14
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